State of the Onion Read Online Free PDF

the commotion, I’m sure we’ll hear more about it later.”
    Cyan moved closer. “So, what did the president really say?”
    â€œNot much.” I pointed to the computer monitor. “President Campbell said he was looking forward to the big dinner tonight. And that he hadn’t had breakfast and he’s hungry. We should probably get those scrambled eggs started.”
    â€œOh, come on. He must have wanted something. What was it?” Cyan took a deep breath which, I knew, heralded another slew of questions.
    Henry raised his hand, silencing her. “Less talk, more work.” To me, he said, “Say no more, Ollie. The president’s meals are our first responsibility. Scrambled eggs it is.”
    We set to work on a second breakfast. The timing was tough because of the official dinner tonight, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.
    In addition to the scrambled eggs, we prepared bacon—crisp—wheat and rye toast, fruit, coffee, orange juice, and Henry’s Famous Hash Browns. More than just pan-fried potatoes, Henry used his own combination of seasonings that made my mouth water every time he prepared the dish. The president and First Lady were so impressed with the recipe that they insisted we serve them at every official breakfast function.
    Henry wielded the frying pan with authority, flipping his special ingredients so they danced like popcorn, sizzling as bits landed back in the searing hot oil. “Work fast, my friends. A hungry president is bad for the country!”
    After the meal was plated and sent to the family quarters, we cleaned up the kitchen and began preparations for lunch. Then it was time to pull out the stops as we got the official dinner together for India’s prime minister. This wasn’t as significant an event as a state dinner, where guest lists often topped one hundred, and we were required to pull in a couple dozen temporary assistants to help. This was a more sedate affair; it required a great deal of effort, but it was certainly manageable for a staff of five.
    I’d designed a flavorful menu, and the First Lady, after tasting the samples we provided, had approved. We’d feature some of the best we had to offer: chilled asparagus soup; halibut and basmati rice with pistachio nuts and currants; bibb lettuce and citrus vinaigrette; and one of Marcel’s show-stopping desserts. We’d done as much as we could in advance without sacrificing freshness or quality, but the time had come to marshal the troops and get everything in the pipeline for the big dinner.
    Talk among us turned, as it inevitably did, to the subject nearest to our hearts—the First Lady’s choice for Henry’s successor.
    After months of interviews and auditions, the field had been narrowed down to two: Laurel Anne Braun and me. Laurel Anne was a former White House sous-chef, and host of the wildly popular television show Cooking for the Best . She and I had worked together at a top restaurant when I’d just graduated from school, long before my White House days. I’d been promoted over her. She’d never forgiven me. And she made it a point to make sure I knew that. I was hoping to avoid her, if I could, when she came in to prepare her audition meals at the White House.
    â€œShe does not have a chance against you,” Marcel said, his “chance” sounding like “shantz.” He deftly arranged chocolate petals to form lotus blossoms. Tonight’s dessert of mangoes with chocolate-cardamom and cashew ice cream, would be the crowning glory of the evening’s meal. He’d worked late for several nights to create the fragile chocolate pieces, and I held my breath as he assembled them. The gorgeous centerpieces came together like magic, without his breaking even one of the delicate petals. “Henry recommended you, n’est-ce pas ? This is the most important consideration.”
    Cyan had removed the